


'till you know that you won't run away

by emptycokebottles



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 11:09:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1224067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptycokebottles/pseuds/emptycokebottles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He only ever hears the part where people are mad at him, the part where he’s being yelled at for not being good enough, the part where people have made him believe he’s worthless and should crawl at people’s feet and beg for their forgiveness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'till you know that you won't run away

**Author's Note:**

> This was... not at all what I was trying to write when I started this, but it kinda just happened.  
> I still don't know how to tag, and I'm not sure what I should put warnings for this time - probably Grantaire being reeeeally drunk and, I don't know, unhealthy relationships? (what else is new)
> 
> The title is Sulfur by SlipKnoT.

It’s long past midnight and closer to early morning when Grantaire get’s home. Enjolras is still up, still waiting, folded up in his favorite armchair and watching some series he found on Netflix without really paying attention to it.  
  
“’Jolras?” and tentative voice calls into the living room. Enjolras does not answer. He’s not mad, he’s fucking furious. They had been fighting before Grantaire went out, yet another fight started when he so much as tried to suggest water for dinner instead of the wine he knew Grantaire really wanted to drink, and it had exploded out of proportions and ended with slammed doors and several hours of radio silence from the other.

  
“’m so sorry,” he really looks the part to, all big sad eyes threatening to well over with tears and fidgeting hands like he wants to touch, to somehow show how sorry he is. He also sounds very, very drunk and that’s exactly why they were fighting in the first place.  
  
“Sure you are,” he snarls back, “you’ve got some way of showing it. What is sorry going to do when you’re still fucking drunk? Sorry doesn’t fix it,” he’s about to turn around and head for the bedroom, too tired, too worked up to have this discussion right now, but Grantaire is gripping tightly to his hand and before he know it the other is on his knees in front of him, looking up at him with pleading eyes, “so sorry,” he says again, “’m so worthless, so sorry, please, please, Enjolras,” he’s stumbling over the syllables, but he doesn’t seem to care, “please don’t leave me. Please, I love you.”  
  
He should say something, he knows, say he’s not going to leave him; that he’s not worthless, but it feels good in the absolute worst way to finally have Grantaire realize everything he could be throwing away if he keeps drinking like he does now. Once Enjolras had thought that the drinking would go away or at least get better given time, but it kept getting worse and then a bit better and worse again and it was so exhausting, so hard to watch and no matter what he do it never seemed to be the right thing.

  
“I love you, I love you, I love you,” Grantaire is mumbling, still at his feet, not even looking up now and instead just clinging to the hand he gripped before, “you deserve so much better, perfect, I’m so sorry, I’ll be better, promise, everything you want, please don’t leave,” and now there’s tears and he want to be mad, because sorry really isn’t fixing the problems, action would fix them, but it’s so hard to stay mad at this gorgeous man when he’s crying and pleading.  
  
“Sccch,” he says and slides to his knees, putting his arms around Grantaire’s shoulders and tugging him to his chest, “Grantaire, sccch, I’m not leaving you. I’m right here,” he says soothingly and for some reason it makes the other cry harder, jerk more violently in his sobs and cling to Enjolras’s shirt, but he doesn’t say anything so that’s probably a good sign, “don’t cry,” he starts softly stroking the dark curls, “just… don’t run off like that. I get worried and mad and… don’t ever run away from me; I just want to help you.”  
“You’re mad at me,” the other sniffles and it’s not a question, it’s just a plain fact, “you’re mad and I keep making you mad and…” he trails of back into sobbing and hiding his face.  
  
“Grantaire,” he says softly, but the other doesn’t look up, “Grantaire, look at me,” he says with more force and sad and tearful eyes peek frightfully up between dark curls, “yes, I’m mad,” the hand stroking his hair gets a grip around his chin before he can look away, “don’t look away from me. I’m mad and I’m worried, I worry about you when you just disappear and I yell because I’m scared of losing you.”  
  
Grantaire looks like he doesn’t really understand or don’t want to understand how much another person can care for him, care enough to be worried. He only ever hears the part where people are mad at him, the part where he’s being yelled at for not being good enough, the part where people have made him believe he’s worthless and should crawl at people’s feet and beg for their forgiveness.  
  
“Please don’t let me loose you,” he stresses, “please stay here, please don’t…” please don’t die, he wants to say and maybe Grantaire knows what he will say and maybe he can’t bear to hear it because he cuts him off with a surprisingly forceful – and a bit clumsy – kiss.  
  
“Never,” he says, “never leave you,” the look in his eyes is so open and honest and Enjolras desperately wants to believe that they’ll be okay, so he kisses him again and holds him tighter. Maybe this is terrible and maybe this relationship will end up tearing them both up from the inside, but at the end of the day he doesn’t care – even though he sometimes forget when they’re fighting and he’s blind with fury and rage, this is exactly where he wants to be. Where he’s meant to be.

  
“I love you,” he mumbles between kisses.  
  
“Love you too,” Grantaire says back, “always.”


End file.
